The Murderer and the Genius
by Alibi Nonsense
Summary: Dr F. Roy Dean Schlippe is the most revered psychoanalyst in the history in psychoanalysis... aside from the fact that he's just a boy. Just like Ichibi no Shukaku is the most feared murderer in the whole of Suna... aside from the fact he is just a boy. And, when Yondaime Kazekage hires out Dr Schlippe for counselling, how can he say no? After all, he is just a boy...
1. Chapter 1

Fowl Manor

Dublin

Ireland

Europe

26th April 20XX

Dear Dr. Schlippe,

For a substantial sum of money, I, the Kazekage of Sunagakure, wish to take you into my employ and counsel my eleven-year-old son, Gaara. Gaara is a rather special case: he is the jinchuuriki of Ichibi no Shukaku and, as a result, has a tendency to be wholly unstable. Previously unsuccessful psychoanalysts have been victimised. I hope you have more luck.

Yours in confidence,

Yondaime Kazekage

RSVP


	2. Chapter 2

Kazekage Residence

Sunagakure

Kaze no Kuni

29th April 20XX

Dear Yondaime Kazekage,

I sincerely apologise for my unavailability at this time and I wish you all the best of luck in searching for a psychoanalyst who isn't extremely busy.

Most unfortunately booked up until you have yourself another psychoanalyst,

Artem- I mean, Dr F. Roy Dean Schlippe


	3. Chapter 3

Fowl Manor

Dublin

Ireland

Europe

2nd May 20XX

Dear Dr Schlippe,

I am sorry to hear that, Dr Schlippe. Unfortunately, I do not have time to waste waiting for the most extensively published psychoanalyst to become available – I am, after all, a very busy man. Please inform all your other clients of your unavailability at this time. I have enclosed a first-class plane ticket to the Shinobi Nations within this envelope for the 5th of May. My son will be waiting at the airport accompanied by his two elder siblings.

Looking forward to meeting you,

Yondaime Kazekage

P.S. Do not bother refunding me for the tickets – consider it an extension of my payment.


	4. Chapter 4

'Professor Schlippe' read the cardboard sign, but, as of yet, Professor Schlippe was nowhere to be found.

"What d'you think's keeping him?"

"I dunno, jan. Maybe he took a bathroom break."

"For four hours?!"

The boy shrugged. "Just a guess," he said, "No need to get all stuffy about it."

His sister growled impatiently and slumped down onto the greying, metal, three-seat bench that she had previously been avoiding. The reason why she had been avoiding it bristled, his sand armour spiking into points at the contact, and his sister shuddered and moved to sit on the arm next to Kankuro instead.

"Why do we have to meet this man, anyway? Tou-sama's kicked the bucket."

"Urgh! I've already told you!"

"You... you did?"

"Well obviously, Ototo."

"Can't you just tell me again, quickly?"

His sister sighed, "Jouseki-sama still believes Gaara-sama to be unstable, despite the evidence to the contrary."

"And? Jouseki's an arse."

Gaara cleared his throat and the two fell silent. He wouldn't hurt them... but they knew he could. He had killed myriads in the past. Kankuro swallowed, turning to his brother, trying to keep the expression on his face nonchalant and bored even though it was pointless; his younger brother could hear his heartbeat, after all.

"Yeah, jan?"

His ototo didn't answer, instead, turning again to stare at a small black spot in the sky, growing steadily larger with each passing second. It was a helicopter. In a minute, they would hear the choppers. Gaara had already heard them.

"Schlippe?"

"Most likely." Kankuro was surprised the boy had answered, but, with Gaara, they never knew.

The black dot flew steadily closer: a speck of dust; a flying ant; a bluebottle; a toy helicopter; a real helicopter. The noise was deafening. The children, having never been within five hundred miles of a helicopter before, were a little short of terrified, though, to the casual observer, they would've just appeared indifferent... at worst, irritated.

The helicopter landed. The choppers stopped whirring. One of the doors opened. Even Gaara looked a little surprised.


	5. Chapter 5

Well, he was big... that was for sure.

("I bet you he weighs more than a bus."

"How much?"

"1000 ryu."

"Done.")

Seven feet tall, bald, weighing in at about 16 stone... this man was not to be taken lightly. At a glance, Kankuro could make out at least ten concealed weapons and that was only because Kankuro was a puppet master - the best in the class - and had been trained to notice these things. He noticed the way the man carried himself: ready to launch a deadly attack at any given moment; ready to kill or wound or fatally injure. This man was not a pro; he was better than a pro.

He approached, grinning cockily. The man probably knew what he could do already, but it was best not to take chances. If he had to spring an attack, it would be better to have an advantage.

The man extended his hand. The puppeteer shook it. "Hey. Name's Kankuro. I take it you're Schlippe."

The man looked down at the boy. The boy didn't flinch. "I am not Schlippe," the man said and even his Irish accent sounded threatening. If it had been anyone else, Kankuro would've laughed.

Temari stepped forward. "We waited for Schlippe," she said, "Five bloody hours we waited for Schlippe. Where is Schlippe?"

The man didn't answer. He was walking back over to the helicopter. Kankuro saw his sister scowl. Poor man. Even Gaara tiptoed around _that_ scowl. The man was opening the door. Someone else was getting out. It was a boy. The boy was Gaara's age.

Temari had stopped scowling, a faint frown flickering across her features. Kankuro figured he looked much the same.

"Good afternoon," said the boy, "I do apologise; I was half asleep."

Temari's frown eased slightly and the boy smiled. The smile was fake.

"Schlippe is an alias," said the boy, "I would've thought you'd have realised. Doctor F. Roy Dean Schlippe. Freudian slip. My little joke."

No-one laughed. Gaara just looked irritated. The boy rolled his eyes. "You'd think they'd know who Freud was..." he muttered, "Honestly, these foreign people..."

"What's your real name, then?" Kankuro interrupted.

"Artemis. The second. Artemis Fowl the second. And this is Butler, my ...butler."

"Kankuro," said Kankuro, "Temari and Gaara."

Artemis nodded. "I see."

"What?"

"I take it we're on foot."

Kankuro's eyes widened slightly. This boy was extremely sharp: he'd noticed the slight dirt smudges on their clothes and the dust on their sandals and deduced that they'd not been in a vehicle, then he'd noticed their bags and deduced that, if there _had_ ever been a vehicle, the packs would be in it by now and, due to the small, lightweight size of their luggage, he'd deduced that there never would be a vehicle due to the restrictions on their packing. Or maybe he'd done it another way. Kankuro was uncertain. He glanced at his brother. If Gaara was impressed, he wasn't doing anything about it.

Temari grunted. "Whoopee. Another boy genius. Well, you're right; we're not mollycoddling anybody. If you wanna cry about it, do it in the desert; it could use a little water. If you're not going to cry, good. I don't like sensitive types."

Kankuro grinned, glad their new friend Artemis had stopped smiling: Artemis and Gaara were alike in that way... if they smiled, you shrivelled. And it wasn't a nice sort of shrivelling.

"Butler, is there any way we can bring the private jet along?"

Temari gave a harsh bark that was meant to be a laugh. "Are you joking? It's a desert town. A technologically kaput desert town full of extremely paranoid ninja who would rather blow up ten thousand people than let a stranger see them asleep. What do you _think_ will happen if that great thing over there turns up out of the blue? That they'll go 'yay' and throw dango? Because, yeah. No. Terrible idea. Trust me. And I thought you were supposed to be intelligent."

"Point taken."

"And it's not as if they _know_ you or anything! You're a kid! It'll be bad enough trying to convince the guards you're not enemy ninja, let alone giving them the satisfaction of being legally able to destroy you too!"

"I heard-"

"Anyway, it'll be good for those skinny peg legs of yours, to get some muscle on 'em. Your butler has the right idea, bulked up like he is... although it's kind of obvious to the enemy which one to avoid. Maybe he should-"

"We need to go." It was quietly spoken, but Kankuro gulped anyway. Gaara, after all, was glaring. And Gaara's glares were scarier than Gaara's smiles.

"'kay, jan. Moving out."

His brother grunted and nodded. It was way better than any alternative, but Kankuro was still rather peeved, none-the-less. He never had really ever liked being ordered around by a child. But Butler put together two rucksacks and they headed off regardless.

"Excuse me. Can we stop? I have a stone in my shoe."

"Can we take a break now?"

"Can you slow down a bit?"

"How much further again?"

"I... Butler... I... Butler... Butler, please... please carry this rucksack... for me... p-please... I... I... it's too heavy!"

"WAIT! WAIT FOR ME!"

"So... we... we can't wash until... when, exactly?"

"What are the ration bars made of? Because I think it would be more sustaining if one of us *cough* Butler *cough* went and found... alternative resources."

"Your puppets are tied to your _back_? For days on end... and they weigh _how much_, exactly? Do you have any idea what _damage_ you could be doing to your deltoids?"

"Gaara, wasn't it? Bruised eyes. Hm... definitely severe insomnia due to traumatic experience. You should get more slee-"

That was when Kankuro decided he wasn't really bothered about a little extra weight. Kuroari snapped shut and, despite the banging, it was, on the whole, a relief to the ears of the whole party. And Gaara was appeased. That was something.

They continued in relative silence.

"LET ME-"

"Shut up."

I did say relative silence.


	6. Chapter 6

His siblings and the gorilla had gone to find water and Gaara had been left alone with the child. If he hadn't been trying to not murder anybody, the child would've been nothing more than a corpse.

"So, Gaara. Homicide. What does it mean to you?"

Gaara glowered. He didn't need a psychoanalyst, for heaven's sake! What business did some kid-quack have telling him what to do? Or sticking _its_ nose into _his_ private thoughts? His siblings did enough of that anyway, nowadays; now he wasn't trying, left right and centre, to kill everyone. Really, he didn't know why he bothered: either he let Shukaku loose and his head stopped pounding, or he kept him on a tight leash and his head-ache worsened.

**'Crush it and bathe in its blood.'**

"Shut up..." he growled. The child raised his head.

"What?"

**'Burn it. Nail its corpse to a tree. Turn it inside out.'**

"I said... shut up."

"I don't understand – I was being perfectly silent."

**'Make it eat its own innards.'**

"Gaara?"

Gaara blinked. It was a menacing blink; the kind that stopped sumo wrestlers mid-charge and reduced them to quivering jellies. The kind of blink that, if its explosive power could be harnessed, you could make five or six decent sized nuclear bombs. The kind of blink that shut people up. Unfortunately, the kid-quack seemed to be immune.

"...Okay, so, how about we play a game?" It produced a ping-pong ball from the inside of its jacket pocket.

"..."

"It's a very simple game: the person holding the ball says a word, throws the ball to the other and the other person says a word that connects to the one before. It's a warm-up activity. I'll start. Homicide."

Gaara didn't bother to catch the ball. The child sighed.

"It would be easier if you just cooperated."

"..."

"Alright... we'll try it without the ball."

The ball disappeared back into the pocket. Gaara waited.

"Homicide."

"Psychoanalysts."

The child shut up.


End file.
